


ROMA XCIX

by MediumSizedEvil



Series: Really Ridiculous AU's [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kit Harington's Abs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediumSizedEvil/pseuds/MediumSizedEvil
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that every fandom must be in want of a Gladiator AU.Æmilia sighed. “Yes, I am coming anon.”“Incidentally, 'I am coming anon' is what I saw written on a wall near Flavius's brothel in the Via Appia,” Iacobus remarked.





	1. CAPITULUM I

“How do I look?” Æmilia asked as she adjusted her earring.

“Like a painted whore,” her slave Rosa replied in her usual insouciant manner which no amount of lashes could cure. Although for her part Æmilia always appreciated her frankness and never reproached her for it. “In a good way though,” Rosa added magnanimously, and Æmilia smiled.

She got into the carriage with her husband, the Tribune Teodorus Fontibus, and his parents. At the Legate Ramonus's villa on the 99th hill they were welcomed in the atrium by the Legate himself and his companion Kæso, a learned Greek and former slave whom Ramonus had seen fit to free. They were immediately introduced to one of his other guests: Terentius Africanus, the famed gladiator and personal friend of the Legate. Despite being a fierce fighter he had an amicable nature and was a great favourite at the elites' dinner parties, although much to the despair of the rich widows and naughty married ladies he was not at all susceptible to their charms. While these things were not meant for her ears Æmilia knew that such arrangements were commonplace between handsome athletes and bored housewives. “Another victory in the arena today?” she asked him, as she had not attended the day's events, having no taste for blood sports.

“Sadly not,” Terentius replied. “I was soundly beaten. My attention must have slipped momentarily, perhaps by the sight of my lovely wife sitting in the stands.”

“Or you're just getting old,” a stranger said, coming up from behind and slapping Terentius's shoulder amicably.

“Allow me to introduce my new friend and foe,” Terentius said, smiling. “This is Iacobus of Iudea. Iacobus, this is Domina Æmilia, from Hispania Citerior.”

“And you were the one who bested Terentius in a fight?” she asked incredulously, noting his slim stature.

“Indeed I was,” he replied. “And I was not even wounded today save for your lack of faith in me just now.”

“Well I for one am not surprised,” Kæso interjected, “for it was in the amphitheatre in Pompeii that I saw a short Britannicus take on a man twice his size and win.”

“Well, he must be dead by now,” Tribune Teodorus reflected. “You were very fortunate to leave when you did.”

“Indeed, it was a most lamentable affair,” Kæso agreed.

Teodorus nodded. “So many beautiful villas and rich works of art lost forever.”

“And many lives,” Legate Ramonus added.

“Indeed, quite a few eminent citizens perished in the inferno too,” Teodorus said thoughtfully. “It was very fortunate that the Empress was just getting her swimming pool renovated, or she might have been at her villa in Oplontis.”

Kæso nodded politely. “In conclusion, Pompeii was a most lamentable tragedy, and despite the magnificent volcanic spectacle it was very badly recounted, as I have told young Pliny. Even so I shall always fondly recall the young Britannicus's impressive abdominal area.”

Æmilia tried very hard not to dwell on the abdominal areas of any of the gladiators currently present. Perhaps she should visit the amphitheatre more often.

“You are fond of spectacle then?” Iacobus asked Kæso. “So am I.”

“Only of the most discerning kind,” he replied discerningly.

“I love the excitement and drama of the theatre,” Iacobus proclaimed, “And I am a particular admirer of Nikolaos of Cavea, a most versatile play actor. I believe he once even appeared in a Greek tragedy, though I did not care to attend the performance. I say, any more of these delicious stuffed dormice?” he asked Legate Ramonus, holding up a tail.

“You speak very frankly for a slave,” Teodorus remarked disapprovingly.

“Oh I fear cannot help it, for I was not always a slave. It's a funny story really. One day I was just walking down the street, chilling in downtown Hierosolyma, minding mine own affairs, when all of a sudden I was arrested for being a part of the People's Front of Iudea, a vile terrorist organisation – even worse than the Cult of Isis - that I have absolutely no involvement with whatsoever.”

Æmilia gasped. “How terribly unfair!”

He nodded. “Yes, especially since I am a member in good standing of the Iudean People's Front.”

Teodorus looked at his wife and frowned. “We shall retire to the triclinium.”

Æmilia sighed. “Yes, I am coming anon.”

“Incidentally, 'I am coming anon' is what I saw written on a wall near Flavius's brothel in the Via Appia,” Iacobus remarked.

Teodorus turned around. “How dare you speak to my wife in this vulgar language!”

Iacobus shrugged. “If you find yours offensive then perhaps I shall please her better with mine own tongue.”

Just then Teodorus's father, Senator Fontibus, ran into the atrium from the bibliotheca. “My wife!” he exclaimed. “My wife has been killed!”


	2. CAPITULUM II

“Obviously it was this slave,” Teodorus said, pointing to Terentius, “This brute of a man.”

“I am not a slave,” Terentius replied. “I bought my freedom three years ago.”

“Then it was that slave,” he said, pointing to Iacobus. “That lustful creature.”

Iacobus shook his head. “I do not deny that I am a creature of lust, but you give yourself and your line too much credit if you presume that your mother inspires any.”

“Teodorus, please calm yourself,” Legate Ramonus urged. “We do not solve murders by just blaming the nearest slave.”

“No?” he asked, confused. “But this Iacobus here is a dangerous man,” he insisted, “hell-bent on destroying our culture, our civilization and everything we stand for. I have heard him boast with mine own ears that he is a member of the Iudean People's Front, that vile seperatist organisation.”

“Entirely by peaceful means,” Iacobus assured him, “Perhaps via a referendum or two. Overall we are quite sensible to the many benefits of Roman occupation, although we do have some suggestions for improvements, particularly on the subject of gender equality. In any case, I only joined because they throw the most magnificent Purim Feast every year. It's the best party in town.”

“Enough about the Iudean People's Front's Purim Party,” Legate Ramonus decreed. “Instead of throwing around baseless accusations, let us examine the evidence first.”

They all retired to the bibliotheca, where the Legate kept his impressive collection of scrolls, and Senator Fontibus's wife was laying on the floor drenched in blood from a savage beating.

“Only a strong, muscular man, like for example a gladiator, could do such damage with his bare hands,” the Senator argued.

“If I may observe,” Iacobus started, “in my career I have come across many types of injuries and I would argue that this damage was not inflicted with bare hands. From the various imprints on the body I conclude that a weapon of some sort was used; I would suggest something long and thin, like a lance.

Terentius nodded. “I concur, although I would add that I suspect the weapon was somewhat heavier than a wooden lance.”

“You are a good friend, and I trust your judgement,” Legate Ramonus said. “But then where is said object?” he asked, scanning the room. Nothing seemed to match the description.

“Mayhaps the murderer threw it out of the window,” Æmilia proposed.

Iacobus promptly jumped out of said aperture onto the peristylium and began searching yon planted area. Æmilia followed in a more dignified manner, through the doorway. She pointed to an elongated object at the bottom of the swimming pool. “Over there?”

Iacobus nodded and quickly distangled himself from the rose bushes. Then he took off his tunic and dove into the pool with a splash. After retrieving the item from the bottom he presented her with the evidence.

“I am much obliged to you,” she said primly, looking anywhere but his dripping torso.

“I am glad to be of service to you, Domina,” he said warmly while putting his tunic back on, the fabric clinging to his skin. “I would hate to see your beautiful silks get all wet and translucent.”

“Eh...they're from Lutetia,” she managed at last in a coherent response. She looked at the object in her hands. “And I do believe this bronze candlestick also hails from Gallia.” She had an eye for the artistic.

Legate Ramonus confirmed that the candlestick indeed came from his Gallic campaign, and had been situated in the bibliotheca ever since. “And as I am not in the habit of throwing candlesticks in my swimming pool I must conclude that it came to be here quite recently.” Back in the bibliotheca he put the candlestick in its original location, close to the dead body.

Iacobus carefully observed the scene. “The water has washed away the blood, but the shape and size matches the injuries.”

“A clear admission of guilt!” Senator Fontibus exclaimed. “Only the murderer would know this.”

“But he was in the atrium the whole time,” Æmilia argued. “And your toga is covered in blood.”

“Pray, dear Æmilia, do not concern yourself with men's affairs,” Teodorus said irritably. “That could be anyone's blood.”

“I do not blame you for wanting to silence this woman,” Iacobus said, “For she makes you sound so stupid in comparison.”

“Such impudence, from a slave!” Teodorus exclaimed. “You are courting the whip, boy.”

“Iacobus, you will not insult another guest under my roof,” Legate Ramonus reproached him. “But I will hear Domina Æmilia.”

She nodded gratefully. “Having seen many a chicken slaughtered in the culina, as is my domain, I must conclude that the distribution of blood spatter on the Senator's toga suggests that he was present, indeed quite near, when his wife was brutally beaten to death.”

Iacobus looked impressed with her knowledge of fowl murder. “So it was Senator Fontibus in the bibliotheca with a candlestick!” he declared triumphantly. “Now are you ready to confess, Senator, or do I need to fetch my dulcet lyre to make you sing?”

“No! Not the dulcet lyre!” Terentius exclaimed, eyes full of fear. “Let not our innocent ears endure this experience, I beg of you, Senator.”

“Alright, I admit I savagely beat my wife to a pulp. But in my defense, she advised me against eating another stuffed dormouse and accused me of corpulence.”

Teodorus gasped. “How dare she!”

“We shall let the jurors decide if that is sufficient justification,” Legate Ramonus decreed.

Later that evening Æmilia walked into the peristylium to look at the stars and gather her thoughts on the eventful night. She was startled by a voice. “So it looks like young Teodorus will come into his inheritance a bit sooner than expected,” Iacobus said, appearing from behind a Doric column. “Nor will you be plagued by an annoying mother-in-law anymore. You are most fortunate to be married to that pumice stone of a man.”

His pity irked her. “I do not see how that is any concern of yours.”

“Alas, I am but a slave.”

She halted. “But if you were a free man, would you challenge him?” she asked curiously. “Or steal me away in the night? What would you do?”

He shook his head. “I would do nothing. Nothing at all. For even if I was a free man I would still be a slave.” He leaned closer and spoke softly, “I am yours to command, Domina.”


End file.
